


An Alpha's Right

by DictionaryWrites



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Age Difference, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Begging, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub Undertones, Knotting, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-19
Updated: 2013-11-19
Packaged: 2018-01-02 02:09:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1051290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DictionaryWrites/pseuds/DictionaryWrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Enjolras is on the cusp of heat, and he enters the bar, the Corinthe, hoping to find some Beta to help him through it.<br/>He finds an Alpha, an Alpha called Grantaire, and his heat is far better than he could have expected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Alpha's Right

Enjolras was tightening his hands into fists and loosening them regularly as he entered the bar, and dear God, it was smokier than he really preferred, the grey poison on the air tainting his sight and stinging his eyes, but he would simply have to suffer through it: after all, this evening, he had a firm mission.

He was on the very  _cusp_  of heat, positive he would start the cycle in the morning or perhaps, if he was extremely lucky indeed the next morning after, but while Enjolras was certainly no Bossuet, he was not a man continually in God’s good graces either.

He glanced around, taking in the faces around him. All he needed was a single Beta, just  _someone_  who would let Enjolras take them home and allow him release…

His gaze was captured by a dark-haired man standing at a table, a few girls scattered around him and looking up at him.

”What was it  _like_?” This man must have been repeating a question, judging by his tone. “What was it like to be at a criminal’s knees in the midst of his bloody fury? Ha! What would you have me tell you, ignorant child?” A girl’s smile dropped, and Enjolras noted in the back of his mind it must have been her that had offered the query, whatever it might have been. 

The man’s tone grew more deliberate, and he leaned, his grip tight on the long-necked wine bottle in his one hand. His lip was curled, his features rugged, and while he was not an attractive man,  _ugly_ , even, Enjolras was captivated. “Would you have me tell you of the way my skin felt flayed from flesh, or how my knees screamed and shoulders ached, how I feared the morrow? Would you like me to repeat the words I cried when I begged for mercy? And I did beg for mercy, I assure you, because under such tortures any man would have: I make no jest. I sobbed, I begged, I plead and I plead, and they did not stop because I was there and so were they, and I was on my knees where they were not, and my hands were bound where theirs held knives. And no law was there to stop them.” The blond now noted the way his skin was marked, riddled with a dozen features that were distinctive these days of a man who was once a captive Alpha. 

Enjolras stared, open-mouthed, as the man set the bottle down with a sharp clink of glass on heavy wood and pulled his shirt back over his head, hiding flesh ridden with scars and mars of the worst kind. “I was a slave once, and now it is not the case.  _Vive l’avenir_.” The last words were sarcastic, and as Enjolras heard this man’s utterance he thought of his friend Jehan Prouvaire, of the way he said them with such delight, and his heart ached for this man before him.

More than that, though. It was more than Enjolras’ heart that set off this fascination; Enjolras’ heart was beating a dozen times its proper pace, his mouth dry, his lips quivering, his thighs spread a little, and fire was coiling in the very pit of his body. A purely biological reaction, perhaps, but Enjolras didn’t get this with most Alphas.

Whatever did it matter? Enjolras  _ached_ , desired, needed, to be under this dark-haired demon, to bare his neck and let the larger man (and he was a good deal larger, broad where Enjolras was slimly built, muscled where Enjolras was lithe, could likely hold Enjolras down without a thought about it) have his way, but there was  _more_ than that. Enjolras’ sudden intoxication, admiration, fascination, well, they were no fault of hormones - this man was a strong one, a man of evident impressive stature.

It was only when he took a few steps forwards that Enjolras recognized a familiar face among the girls at this man’s table, two of which had left embarrassedly after his sharp speech. “Enjolras!” Bahorel called, and Enjolras moved forwards faster, offering a small smile of greeting. “Grantaire, this is my good friend Enjolras. He is a verifiable fury of a man - an angel with flaming sword!”

The alpha - Grantaire - regarded Enjolras in a clinical fashion that sent Enjolras’ heart up to the back of his throat, cutting off any consideration of speech. “You’re the pretty boy student with thoughts of social reform, are you?” Enjolras’ mouth opened and it closed, and he could think of no witty response despite his usual oratory skill.

"I- er, well-"

"Is that supposed to mean you don’t consider  _me_  to be a pretty boy student, Grantaire?” Bahorel protested in an obvious tease, and Grantaire’s intense expression was suddenly lost to laughter, laughter that made Enjolras’ thighs weak and his knees quake.

"You are undoubtedly the prettiest, my good fellow." Grantaire said, and he dropped into his seat again. "Join us, Enjolras." and even the utterance of Enjolras’ name seemed to drip with irony and sarcasm, with a bitter humour that could only be earned from years of subjugation, yet despite his tone, Enjolras’ stomach gave a little jump. He shifted closer, obedient, and settled in a spare chair.

Grantaire’s nostrils flared, and he affected Bahorel with a look of intense distrust. “You never said he was an Omega.” Something in Enjolras’ heart jumped at the idea that Grantaire had just  _scented_  him, but he pushed the thought aside.

"Marius and Enjolras are both Omega." Bahorel said placatingly, tapping Grantaire’s knee in an affectionate, close fashion, and Enjolras wondered in the back of his mind if the two weren’t already involved, if he was intruding - after all, the other three girls had now moved rapidly away. "The rest of us are Beta." His tone was obviously reproving, but Grantaire’s remained as vicious as always.

"And what does an Omega want with social reform?" That wild gaze was now fixed upon Enjolras, and the blond bit hard on his lip, noting the way Grantaire’s eyes dropped from the blond’s eyes to his lips in a matter of moments, and quaking.

“My good friend Feuilly worked under our family.” Enjolras said, his tone level as he could possibly manage under obvious duress. “He worked hard, garnered no reward. He didn’t receive the scars you sport, but he suffered for his captivity. I wanted more for him, for men like him. I wanted his freedom because he deserved it more than I. Freedom should be for every man, every woman, with no thought for one’s sort of birth.” Grantaire regarded him. Five years ago, had it really been so long ago that Feuilly had left Enjolras’ family?

Enjolras remembered what it had been like. He remembered the very phrasing of the laws if he considered carefully, but it was never something he liked to consider without necessity, for it left the most bitter taste in the back of his mouth.  _Alphas, too much of a danger to the whole of society, must be designated protectors_.

Protectors. Owners, really, for that was the long and short of it. Alphas had been little more than slaves, to be abused by their Omega owners as they so wished (and those owners were often Omegas, Enjolras made no denial of the fact, because the bourgeois had considered Omegas pure for the longest time, and by marrying only other high class families, the Omega trait was clear in the bloodline while still rare). 

The vote had passed, though, when more and more Betas entered the statehouse than Omegas, and Alphas were free. In a fashion.

"And where is Feuilly now?"

"He is an  _ami de l’ABC_.” Enjolras said in a quiet voice, and even though the establishment was loud, Grantaire could hear him clearly at this distance. “He is one of us. I live with him.” Grantaire scoffed.

"You belief in his rights earned him romance, is that so? He has left your family to be yours alone, even with his new-earned freedom." Enjolras jolted back at the accusation, and Bahorel gently elbowed Grantaire in his side.

"His parents threw him out. Not merely over Feuilly, but over their friendship particularly. He had only the classes already paid for, the clothes on his back and a box of books." Bahorel’s quiet, severe tone garnered no gentleness from Grantaire, and Enjolras did not want it.

"You could have stayed, undoubtedly." Enjolras looked at Grantaire seriously.

"I would not have wanted to." Enjolras said, and Grantaire snorted. The blond furrowed his brow, perplexed by the reaction. "You do not believe the fight for equality should be united? Have I offended you?"

"I wish to keep what I have so recently been gifted with, boy." And yes, compared to this man, Enjolras certainly was a boy. He was barely two and twenty, but this man must have been a good deal older, more like Feuilly’s age. "What sense is there losing my life or worse, losing my freedom to go to the galleys, for the sake of some  _bullshit_  revolution?” Enjolras’ cheeks flushed, more at the tone than Grantaire’s profanity, but the Alpha smirked, and he leaned forwards.

"I wish to enjoy the finer things in life while I am still free to do so." And his nose was nearly touching Enjolras’, and it was all the blond could do to not release a short squeak. "Your cunt, perhaps."

"Grantaire!" Bahorel said sharply, and his hand tightened into the fist Enjolras had seen well-used a dozen times before, in protection of any of them, but often enough, Enjolras himself.

"No, Bahorel, I’m fine." Enjolras said, and he met Grantaire’s pretty eyes, because they were very pretty indeed despite the bags beneath them, and he laughed in Grantaire’s face, the sound a tinkling bell compared to the rough chuckles Grantaire had produced earlier. "He thinks me intimidated, and I think him sweet."

Grantaire’s eyebrows shot up, and he leaned back in his chair to regard Enjolras in an intimate, interested fashion. “I like this boy, Bahorel.” Bahorel rolled his eyes, shaking his head as he took a sip from his glass. “What do you do, child?”

"I resent being called so."

"And yet whenever I speak down to you,  _Enjolras_ , your knee jolts and your fingers twitch.” Grantaire retorted easily, and Enjolras wanted to berate himself for not realizing Grantaire had been paying as close attention to his own paralingustics as Enjolras had to Grantaire’s. “How old are you? One and twenty?”

"Two and twenty." Enjolras corrected lightly, and in a fit of boldness and brash consideration, he took Grantaire’s bottle from his hand and sipped from its mouth before he returned it, the brandy burning on his lips. "Feuilly is seven and twenty."

"Nine and twenty." Grantaire returned, and Enjolras swallowed, because yes, Grantaire was indeed a good deal older than him. "You look seventeen with your hairless face. You shave?"

"I’m Omega, I don’t-" Enjolras cheeks flushed at Grantaire’s deliberate and smug expression, having fallen for the jibe. Omega men grew little body hair, and Grantaire knew that well, obviously. Grantaire’s cheeks were not supernaturally smooth as Enjolras’ were, nor clean shaven like Bahorel’s - his were stubbly with dark hair. 

"And what do you  _do_ , boy?”

"I translate with two friends of mine. Courfeyrac and Marius."

"The other Omega."

"Yes." Grantaire’s lip twitched, but he made no further comment. 

"I suppose before you were thrown out, you planned further schooling?"

"I was to be a lawyer."

"A  _lawyer_. Like our good friend Bahorel, here.” And Bahorel  _groaned_  at the jest, hiding his face in his hands, and Grantaire laughed. He laughed from his belly, nay, from his very  _soul_ , so it seemed, and Enjolras could not hide his affectation. “Ah, a shame.”

"What is your trade, sir?"

"My trade?  _Je suis **artiste**_.” Grantaire said, and Enjolras leaned forwards, interested. Feuilly worked as a fanmaker, but Enjolras had seen him paint on rare pieces of canvas, and to see him do so was a thing of beauty. 

"Really? Do tell me about it." Enjolras requested eagerly, but Grantaire glared at him, expression severe.

"Who are  _you_  to order me around, Omega?” And Enjolras’ eyes widened, his mouth opening and closing.

"Apologies, I did not mean to suggest-" But Grantaire and Bahorel were both laughing at him now, and Enjolras pursed his lips, his cheeks as scarlet as they ever were.

"Oh, damn you." Grantaire laughed harder, obviously satisfied with the tease, and despite himself Enjolras let out a few rather flustered chuckles of his own. And while Enjolras was enjoying himself, enjoying this man’s company and Bahorel’s, he felt a reminder twinge in his belly, and he reluctantly stood. "I must take my leave, Bahorel, and Grantaire, my good fellow, I-"

"You’re nearing heat." Enjolras blinked at him.

"I- yes. I came here to find a Beta to  _relieve_  me.”

"A Beta?" Grantaire scoffed, and he took a last swig from his bottle, setting it on the table empty. "I can do you one better. Bahorel, my good fellow, I shall see you on the morrow." Bahorel snorted.

"You are bold,  _mon ami._ " Bahorel said, and Grantaire’s answer was intoxicating.

"I am  _wild_.” And then his arm had been offered to Enjolras, and the blond took it despite himself, letting Grantaire lead him from the room and out into the street. “Truly all you went out for, is it?”

"I needed." Enjolras said, and he removed his arm from Grantaire’s to grasp at his hand, leading the other by it. And God, Grantaire’s hand was large, skilled and heavy in Enjolras’ grip, and while he could dip his head, he could not hide the tell-tale reddening on the back of his neck.

"It’s always nice to see an Omega ready to hang off my knot." And Enjolras let out a choked noise, and he elbowed the other man in the side. 

"Don’t be so crass! We are in the middle of the street-" And then Grantaire had silenced him, his lips heavy and skilled on Enjolras’, coaxing his mouth open with plain practice, and the blond was left whimpering against his mouth until he pulled away. "Of the street, and it’s-" Another kiss, and Enjolras’ sound was sharp as he grasped desperately at Grantaire’s shirt lapels, allowing the larger man to bring him closer. "Of- of. Oh, may God damn it anyway." Enjolras muttered, and he led Grantaire with new eagerness.

"You have no friends that would help you through this?"

"Undoubtedly, but I wish not to press upon them. Heats are an exhausting endeavour for all involved." Enjolras answered easily, leading Grantaire up stairs and to the humble apartment he shared with Feuilly. They had separate rooms to sleep in, at the very least, and the living space was cosy and warm even in the harsher winters.

"And this Feuilly? Where is he?" Enjolras laughed.

"Feuilly only takes other Alphas." He said, and Grantaire raised his eyebrows, but made no further comment. "Good evening, Feuilly!" Enjolras said as he pushed the door open, and Grantaire offered the man a cheery wave as Enjolras dragged Grantaire into his bedroom and kicked the door closed. Feuilly, seated in his armchair with a newspaper in his hands uttered a long suffering sigh and stood to grasp his hat from the side.

"Must I be quiet?" Grantaire asked, nodding in the direction of the other room. "For his sake?"

"Oh, you needn’t bother. He’ll be gone within ten minutes." Enjolras said, and his hands were on Grantaire’s shirt, rapidly undoing the buttons, and God, God, he  _needed_ , needed to get fucked, dear God-

True to Enjolras’ word, the front door slammed shut by the time they were both unclothed, and Grantaire couldn’t help but laugh against Enjolras’ mouth as he pushed him back onto the bed.

"Dear God, you are  _soaked_  for me.” Grantaire purred, hands pressing firmly between Enjolras’ legs, two fingers pressing against his ass and  _in_ , teasing over the rim and drawing choked noises from Enjolras’ mouth.

"Do not be soft with me." Enjolras requested desperately, dropping back onto the bed with his legs spread wide, and God, he was ready, and he keened when Grantaire fucked a third finger inside of him, clenching around the digits.

"Never." Grantaire assured him, and he dipped to bite hard at Enjolras’ shoulder.

"Be rough, be wild." Enjolras’ cock was leaking, and he moved to touch it with his own hand, letting out mewls of sound between his words.

"Always." Grantaire agreed.

"Take me."

"As you wish." And then Grantaire’s fingers were gone and he was fucking forwards, and Enjolras let out a sound that was more a scream than a pleasured moan ( _In the street below the closed window, Feuilly heard the sound, winced, and walked more hurriedly in the direction of the Musain, eager to get away from the sound of his fellow’s most recent sexual endeavour),_  leaving Grantaire chuckling against his neck.

Enjolras let out high sounds, wriggling desperately under Grantaire as he bucked his hips back for more, and Grantaire’s low laugh was dirty, gruff, and sent electric shocks all through Enjolras’ body. He was quick, the movements of his hips sharp and deep and dear  _God_ , Enjolras was dying, was definitely going to die a little death if Grantaire carried on.

"Please, more, fuck, dear  _God_  above, Grantaire, Grantaire, please, you have to-“

"What do I have to do,  _boy_?” Enjolras  _yowled_ , arching his back and grabbing at Grantaire’s shoulders, thighs tight around the other’s legs. “Let you orgasm? Do you need to? Do you feel it coiled in your belly,  _la petite mort?_ Pretty little Omega and you’re just  _greedy_  for it, aren’t you?”

Enjolras’ eyes were wide, his lips parted, and God, God, he couldn’t help it, couldn’t hold back - he came clenching desperately around Grantaire’s cock and releasing choked noises, gasping and wheezing as Grantaire slowly pulled back.

He stood from the bed, walking naked into the other room before returning with a candle, lighting up the room. It was a warm, summer’s evening, and previously the light from the setting sun had been enough, but now it had gone down fully and they were in darkness.

"I blew the others out: no sense wasting candles." Grantaire murmured, and Enjolras agreed in a sleepy tone, pressing close to Grantaire as he joined the Omega in bed. 

"You didn’t come."

"I will conserve my knot for when you’re wet with heat tomorrow morning." Grantaire murmured against Enjolras’ hair, reaching out and removing the ribbon holding it back. 

"Dear God." Enjolras whispered.

"You’ve not taken a knot before?"

"No. Feuilly’s spoken well of them, once drunk enough, but not- not personally." 

"Sleep, boy." Grantaire said quietly, and Enjolras regarded him from under drowsy eyelids. 

"Do you like to call me boy?"

"Ostensibly so." Enjolras let out a soft giggle, baring his neck and arching with his head pressed against the pillow, and Grantaire leaned to press a kiss to Enjolras’ Adam’s Apple.  "Sleep."

Enjolras did.

When he woke, it was in the fitful fever of heat, and he let out sound as soon as his eyes open, sitting up in bed soaked with sweat. “Calm.” Grantaire barked at him, and Enjolras stilled, letting Grantaire lean to capture his lips in a quick kiss. “Hush, calm yourself. Spread your legs.”

Enjolras obeyed without question, without thought, as Grantaire moved between his thighs and lined himself up, and then he was fucking forwards, and all Enjolras could consider were the stars behind his eyes, he felt so  _hot_ , God-

"Look at this, your thighs are slick with it." Grantaire commented, fucking forwards and grasping the undersides of Enjolras’ thighs to lift them up, allowing him a much deeper angle than he had managed before."I’ve made many an Omega squeal, boy, but you’re certainly the prettiest." And Enjolras cursed under his breath, his eyes closed tightly, but when his hand went to his cock as it had before, Grantaire grabbed at both of his hands and laid them out above his head, against the bed’s board. "Keep them there." Grantaire growled, and Enjolras did, mewling.

"Fuck me." Enjolras whimpered, and Grantaire grinned down at him, fucking his hips forwards in an easy rhythm, comfortable where Enjolras feverish, casual where Enjolras was desperate. "Fuck me, knot me, soak me with your orgasm, dear God, please, please, Grantaire, mark me and let others know what you’ve done to me, destroy me and build me up again-" Enjolras cried out as Grantaire brushed over his prostate, and that dirty chuckle burst from Grantaire’s lips again.

"Oh, I’ll destroy you alright." And Enjolras felt a slight swell as Grantaire pulled back, the next thrust just a little more difficult for the brunet to manage. 

"Oh, God, are you, are you-" Grantaire’s cock felt thicker than it should have been at its base, and the next thrust was even bigger, the next a firm stretch that caused an almost-burn at Enjolras’ rim, and after that, Grantaire couldn’t even pull his cock back, though he tried and stressed Enjolras’ entrance in a way that made him squeal.

Enjolras felt so  _full_ , and he let out desperate little noises, hips bucking uselessly against the air between him and Grantaire in a desperate plea for friction on his cock. “Please, please, please-“

"You wish me to put a hand upon your member?" Grantaire’s eyes flickered up to Enjolras’ wrists where they were pressed, one over the other, against the headboard behind him. Obedient to a fault, was he?

"I’ll do anything-"

“ _Anything_? A weighty offer.” Grantaire purred, and now his thrusts, out of pure necessity, had become more rocking motions, his groin pressed firmly against Enjolras’ ass. Enjolras’ expression was needy, and Grantaire wondered if he might cry, should Grantaire continue to tease.

 _It would be ever such a shame to mar so pretty a face as that with tears,_  he thought, and he put his hand on Enjolras’ cock, grasping it firmly. Enjolras convulsed, head tipping back, his neck bared in new invitation, and Grantaire bit hard at the offered skin as he continued to slowly rock his hips and move his hand over the shaft of the Omega’s cock, drawing mewls from those pretty pink lips. 

"Dear God, why are you letting me do this to you?" And the words tumbled from Grantaire’s lips without thought as he looked upon Enjolras’ strikingly charming face, as he felt the weight of his blood-filled cock in hand, as he felt the wet  _clench_  of the other man’s entrance around his knot. “You are  _gorgeous_ , a God among men, and you would let me debase you in this fashion?”

"I am not debased!" Enjolras said, and he let out a weak, orgasmic laugh. "It is an Alpha’s right, just as it is an Omega’s, to enjoy the life spread out before him!"

"And the legs spread before him." Grantaire could not help but crack the joke, and Enjolras’ laugh was a thing of beauty, a peal of angelic bells, and Grantaire grinned as he looked down at the beauty beneath him.

"Yes, and those too." He said, and he was radiant. Grantaire quietened his laughter with harder thrusts, nipping and kissing at the sensitive skin of that pale, graceful neck, thumbing over his cockhead, and when Enjolras finally came, Grantaire worked him through the orgasm.

"I like knots." Enjolras decided finally, when Grantaire was panting atop him, still deeply buried in the other’s flesh with no hope of pulling away for a good hour at least. 

"Good, I’m glad to have pleased with mine." Grantaire purred, his lips a perfect curve, and Enjolras’ own smile was dreamy as he met the artist’s eyes. "Are all the friends you keep as odd as you are?" Grantaire asked, and Enjolras smiled, good-natured and not defensive.

"You think me an oddity?"

"Certainly I do."

"Perhaps they are. To the oddity, eccentricity is normality, surely." Enjolras said, and Grantaire snorted.

"I suppose you think yourself clever."

"I think myself intelligent enough." Enjolras allowed, and Grantaire grinned, gently releasing his thighs and allowing Enjolras to relax more thoroughly under the Alpha’s weight. "Why should one be content with normalcy in a society so deplorable as our own?" He asked, and his words took on simultaneously a strength, an integrity, and a dreamy quality Grantaire found intoxicating. "Join us in our plight, come to the Musain in a few evening’s time, meet my friends, see Bahorel. Join les amis de l’ABC."

Grantaire stared down at him, and he had no faith in this plight, no faith in Bahorel’s poetic words of revolution, no faith in at all, because even the mercy he had been given five years before had been a bare pittance, and yet looking at Enjolras, he felt faith.

Faith in this young man, if not his cause, “Perhaps I shall.” said Grantaire, and Enjolras’ beam was bright. He reached up, fingering over the marks and scars across Grantaire’s body. “You know, Enjolras, if I were to flip myself onto my back and you were to straddle me, my knot would penetrate you in a yet deeper fashion.” And Enjolras bit his lip, hard, needy.

"Is that so?"

"It is so."

"Then, my good man, flip us over and prove it." And Grantaire did, and soon enough the room was filled with his plaintive moans for more once again. 


End file.
